


Not Anything Important

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [139]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Hurt Ianto Jones, Hurt No Comfort, Introspection, Loneliness, Sad Ending, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, absolutely - Freeform, am i projecting?, we don't really do hurt/no comfort in my house but also, yes if people want a sequel i will fix it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Ianto doesn’t hate Gwen.Far from it. He admires her. Truly, he does. He admires her passion, her determination, and her strive to remain true to herself. And above anything else, that’s what makes it the worst.Gwen waltzed straight into the heart of Torchwood and became the heart of Torchwood. She told them that they needed to do better, that there was always more they could be doing. And she…she made them love her.Ianto admires that.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness, Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness & Owen Harper & Toshiko Sato, Gwen Cooper & Owen Harper, Gwen Cooper & Team Torchwood, Gwen Cooper & Toshiko Sato, Ianto Jones & Team Torchwood, Ianto Jones & Toshiko Sato, Jack Harkness & Ianto Jones, Lisa Hallett/Ianto Jones, Owen Harper & Ianto Jones
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [139]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	Not Anything Important

**Author's Note:**

> am i projecting? absolutely
> 
> is this based off of me and kind of a vent fic? hell yeah
> 
> am i sorry? no not really

Fandom: Torchwood

Prompt: “It’s just you…you’re all alone.”

* * *

Ianto doesn’t hate Gwen.

Far from it. He admires her. Truly, he does. He admires her passion, her determination, and her strive to remain true to _herself._ And above anything else, that’s what makes it the worst.

Gwen waltzed straight into the heart of Torchwood and _became_ the heart of Torchwood. She told them that they needed to do better, that there was always _more_ they could be doing. And she…she made them love her.

Ianto admires that.

And she’s good for them, really, she is. They’ve been getting a little cynical lately, especially Susie, a little less in touch with the rest of the world than they should be if they’re going to keep doing what they’re doing. But it’s difficult, really, isn’t it? To see someone come in and do what _you_ wanted to do and do it _so_ much better?

Ianto was always told he was sensitive.

Too sensitive.

He would cry at things that would be so small to everyone else that they would scoff or turn away or simply ignore him until he calmed down or ran off, still in tears. Then they would shake their heads and tell him he was too sensitive. Privately, Ianto’s always thought that was a stupid argument because that’s just telling him that he feels more deeply and intensely than others and that having to watch what they say and do around him was inconvenient for him.

But he learned, if not to keep the hot tears of humiliation and shame at bay.

He learned when his parents set up a reward system for if he could make it through the entire day without crying.

He learned when the _first_ day he made it through an entire day without crying it was such a big deal that his teachers gave him an _award._ It was just a small yellow smiley-face pin that didn’t catch properly and always came loose and pricked Ianto but it was an _award._ And they would always sigh and gesture at it when he had tears in his eyes and say that he should remember what he should be doing.

By the time he learned that crying was _normal,_ healthy behavior—it’s just the body’s way of reacting to any surplus of emotion, and tears for different emotions have different chemical compositions—it was too late. He’d forgotten how to cry.

He had gotten so used to being overwhelmed by happiness, sadness, disappointment, shame, all of those, that his tears didn’t want to come anymore. That and he was too afraid to try and risk seeing what happened if he _dared_ shed a single one.

The only one he never managed to successfully develop a buffer for was frustration. Tests that didn’t go the way he wanted. Projects that just wouldn’t take shape under his fingers. People that just wouldn’t listen.

But by the time he figured out what it was, he was alone.

If he was alone, he could cry to himself and just had to worry about making sure his tears didn’t get on his work.

If he was alone, he could babble and talk to himself all he wanted and there was no one to tell him to shut up.

That was another thing he’d learned quickly. Well, not as quickly as he or some other people would’ve liked. How to be _quiet._

Ianto was not ashamed to admit he got excited about things. He would find something he found interesting or that other people found interesting and it would become his whole life. He could talk and talk and _talk_ about it for ages, just listening to people light up about it. But he was…loud.

He was too loud. He talked too much. He was inconsiderate when other people wanted to talk. No one wanted to listen to him. No one wanted _him_ to listen to them. He always made it about himself. He didn’t realize when other people _wanted_ him to stop talking and were just too polite to say it.

It wasn’t always about things. Sometimes it was about him. But he figured out pretty quickly that no one wants him to talk about himself.

He was great at helping people with their own problems, but no one ever wanted to help him with his. He had too many. His problems weren’t big enough problems. He made a big deal out of nothing. He didn’t trust people enough to actually let them help.

Wonder why.

By the time he was in high school, he learned how to be. He learned to be quiet, to only speak to answer questions or to engage in polite conversation— _quiet_ polite conversation—with the few people he knew. He learned to hide behind civility, a polite mask asking how he could help, saving his tears for the pillow. Not that they were ever still _there_ by the time he got to the pillow. He learned how to settle, his dreams snatched away from him before they were fully formed, bubbles burst before they could leave the wand.

He was good, he was useful, and he still tried to be kind. Because he knew what it was like to be alone in a world with no kindness.

So no, he doesn’t hate Gwen.

He doesn’t hate when Gwen comes in, loudly talking about something that isn’t work-related, going on and on and on until Ianto’s the only one left listening. He knows what it’s like to not be listened to.

He doesn’t hate when Gwen comes to him for reassurance, that she’s doing the right thing, that _they’re_ doing the right thing. He smiles and gently takes her into his arms, cheering her on, telling her that it’s hard, it’s _always_ hard, but they have to keep going. And when she gets promoted faster than any other person at Torchwood because she has the _ambition,_ he smiles.

He doesn’t hate when Gwen bursts into tears and he watches the entire team coalesce around her, murmuring reassurances, offering hands to hold, cups of tea to drink. He knows what it’s like to have tears ignored and how utterly _awful_ it is to have to learn not to cry, how much _worse_ it is to forget how to cry.

Gwen is everything he wishes he would’ve been allowed to be. And so he does his absolute best to make sure none of it is stifled.

So when Gwen is talking at him about something that he has _no_ idea about and she just keeps talking, he pushes away the horrible feeling that twists in his gut that she should _stop talking, doesn’t she know how inconsiderate she’s being?_ and makes the conscious choice to smile, say of course she can keep talking if she likes, he’s happy to listen.

When Gwen steers the conversation around to herself to point out issues she’s been having, he pushes away the sickening reaction that makes him say _look how selfish you’re being! Don’t you think you’re making a big deal out of this for no reason?_ and listens diligently, taking note of what they can do to help, knowing how _hard_ it is to talk about your own issues and how much strength it takes to ask for help.

When Gwen comes to him, crying from too much, too much anything, he puts everything aside and gathers her in, saying that it’s okay, it’s okay, if she needs to cry she can, it’ll hurt more if she keeps it in. He lets her sob it all out, making an absolute mess of his suit, not caring about it for a single second because someone is hurt and he can help. He makes little suggestions and doesn’t flinch when she shoots them all down and says she can’t do anything, doesn’t get upset when she says she wants things _now_ and she doesn’t want to _wait_ because waiting makes her feel _worse_ and she feels like a _failure._ He bites the tongue that wants to say _some people just don’t get what they want_ and swallows the words to say _look at me, I’m the only failure here_ and replaces them with soft words of encouragement, reassurances, and gentle questions if she needs a drink, somewhere to sit for a while, another hug.

Gwen doesn’t deserve to go through what he did. No one does. So he does his damn best to choose the things that will ensure he doesn’t.

Even if those horrible voices people grew in his head say _look what happened to you, why did you get beaten and torn down and they get to walk free?_

Well, the answer to that is fairly simple.

There’s a very simple reason why Gwen can come into Torchwood and immediately be accepted into their ragtag family. Why she can slide right up next to Tosh and start talking about the interesting things, going on and on and on for ages. Why she can make Owen open up and have him be a little less cynical, have him start to care again. Why Jack will wipe her tears and tell her she’s doing good, that her problems are problems worth talking about. Why she and her freely-given care and outward displays of affection are so quickly and integral part of Torchwood.

She deserves it.

She came into Torchwood wanting to do _good._ To do more than she was already doing. To help people. Her heart is good. Gwen is good.

Ianto had to blackmail his way in. To save someone that couldn’t be saved. A selfish someone who wasn’t even that _important._

Ianto had the chance to do what Gwen did. To come in, be the beating moral center they needed, remind them _why_ they were doing this. Hell, he had an even better reason, even though it makes his throat clench to think of it like that, _selfish, selfish, selfish._ He was there during Torchwood One, he was there during Canary Wharf. He was _there,_ he knows better than just about anyone how dangerous this stuff can be. He could’ve come in, a survivor, and spoken about what they should be focused on, have them listen to him because he knows things.

But as he watches the others leave for their pub night and he starts to clean up, he knows it wouldn’t’ve worked.

He knows that the fact that he came from Torchwood One would do one of two things: either they would pass him off as another worker who just so happens to not need retraining, or he would be instantly suspicious, someone to be put under heavy watch.

He knows that he _really_ wants that change for himself, not for any of the others. Look at them now, they’re content with Gwen, Gwen is good for them, they are good for Gwen. Ianto just wants to hoard their kindness for himself, have them tell him his problems are worth listening to, have them want to listen to him talking about things he finds interesting, have them wipe his tears.

That’s not right.

It’s not right for him to be so enviously selfish.

It’s not right for him to want to replace Gwen’s happiness with his own.

It’s not right for him to want to do that to Gwen.

Gwen is everything he wishes he would’ve been allowed to be. He is no longer that person. No, now he is selfish and cowardly for wanting to take someone else’s happiness and he hates himself for it.

He makes the conscious choice to try and ensure he’s _never_ like that to Gwen.

He even wants to apologize to her sometimes, for the horrible thoughts that run across his traitor of a brain, even though he’d _never_ act on them and does his best to ignore them and the sickening feeling that causes aches in his body. He wants to apologize even though no one ever apologized for making him this way.

And Ianto guarantees that none of the people who made him this way even remember that they did. Because for them, it was just another Tuesday, not something that rewrote Ianto’s entire brain and personality. They never remembered, even when Ianto would bring it up to them.

There’s something very melancholy about being the only person who remembers something. It’s just you…you’re all alone.

Remember when Ianto said he only ever really cries out of frustration anymore? That was a lie. He also cries out of rejection.

Sounds silly, right? The plight of a child, crying because no one wants to play with them.

Given how much exposure he’s had over the years, you’d think that Ianto would be immune to it, the way he’s immune to sadness, confusion, happiness.

And yet, as he picks up another piece of trash, he finds himself having to blink more often and keep a pack of tissues stashed in his suit pocket.

That’s the one nice thing about the team pub nights. None of them are around to tell Ianto to stop crying, and all he has to do is make sure his tears don’t get on anything important.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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